


The Annointed Keeper of the Sacred Sanctum of the Rules

by Reyanth



Category: Tenipuri - Fandom, Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-07-15 15:38:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7228510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyanth/pseuds/Reyanth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever wonder what the refs are thinking?<br/>(Read on for a bit of a giggle.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Uh... Language.  
> You have been warned.

What’s my name? Did you just ask me my name?  
You don’t neeeeed to know my name.  
-Is what I imagine I would reply if anyone ever did bother to ask me my name. But, of course, they won’t.  
In fact, I narrate this to myself as if someone might ever hear it but we all know that’s a lie. That’s ok. I’m used to it.  
I mean, it’s not like I’m invisible or anything. They see me, and hear me, and sometimes they even listen to my calls.  
Well, some of them do. The ones that don’t have vision exceeding perfection, the observational skills of nano-biologists, the calculation ability of deep-space astronomers, and the memories of genealogists…  
So, mostly just the first years and fans. They, at least, generally pay attention to us lowly referees. The teams, though… I really hate those guys.  
Take the two pricks playing right now, for instance. The one guy keeps hissing at me while the other is just wandering around with his eyes closed. What’s even with that? …Is he blind? Shit. Am I actually the dick here?  
No! Fuck! Don’t just go around hissing at people. Use your words, creep!  
Oh lovely, now he’s picking a fight with a guy on his own team.  
Great. Now they’re actually throwing fists. I feel like I should probably stop this…  
How much is it really worth to me, though? Last time I suggested a dude stop acting like a thug on penalty of disqualification I got a ball to the face.  
I’ve taken a few of those, actually. Several were outright, blatant violence—these guys have some real anger issues, seriously—but there were the occasional mishaps. That’s what happens when people go around battering at flying objects with their eyes closed, or when serves act like super-powered erratic dragonflies on crack, or when tennis balls rain out of the sky like meteors and crush the dinosaurs into submission…  
I… need to get another job.  
Another nameless pleb who goes by the handle “Shut up, Ref!” was telling me last week about this game he oversaw where there were two players on one side in a singles match. Like, they were twins, or something. He called the team out on it but when he turned around there was just one guy standing there like, “Partner? What partner? It’s just me here.” What could the ref do but continue the match? So he does… and there they are. Two players ganging up on an opponent in what’s supposed to be a singles match. Try as he might, he just couldn’t prove it though, so they got away with the whole thing.  
Oh, and then there are those cocky fucks who seem to think it’s perfectly ok to go about dragging the entire game of doubles through the mud by letting one partner just sit about and do fuck all but serve while the other plays two on one as if it were even remotely appropriate. I mean, it’s not like they’re breaking the rules so there’s nothing a simple referee can do about it but, really? Come on, guys, just play the fucking…  
Wow, that’s a lot of blood. I wonder how long it’ll take him to bleed out if that hissy-little-bastard keeps dragging this on forever. Not my problem. If he dies, I guess I’ll just call the victory for the living.  
I haven’t had any players die on me, though I’ve heard rumors from some of the guys. There have been several cases of unconsciousness, though. I once called a match in favor of a guy who was actually dead on his feet—not literally dead, just fainted but, like, standing… somehow—because the jerk on the serving end chucked a fit and wrecked the net with a thrown racket.  
Hell yeah, I can do that! …Dude was short. He couldn’t reach me up in my high chair. Usually, I’m tempted to demand to see some ID. I’m positive some of these so-called “middle-schoolers” are actually 30-somethings. There must be some kind of underground racket in padding children’s teams with fully-fledged adults. I bet it makes a mint. Anyway, I smacked the short-ass with a disqualification and announced the other guy’s win… but then it turned out he’d been unconscious for at least two serves…  
Oh shit, when did this match end? They just keep calling the shots themselves so I forgot to pay attention.  
Hey, by the way, did you know that using magic is not actually against the rules in tennis? There is literally no rule against using supernatural forces to manipulate balls, weather, rackets, opponents, or the very nature of the universe itself. You could basically get away with anything as long as the ball is hit on one end of the net and lands on the other. Even if the ball were to pass through a black hole during that process, the outcome would be the same as long as the ball is hit once, passes across the net at some point, and lands on the other side. I’ll bet there’s a douche out there who can cut time-space with his racket and do exactly that. Wouldn’t surprise me in the least. I’ve seen worse. I’ll probably see worse in: five, four, three…  
Oh my. She’s really pretty. Is she half or something? She doesn’t look it but how else could she have blue eyes like that? Blue… eyes? How long has she been staring at me like that? Where did her smile go?  
“You’re a hundred years too early to be fantasizing about me.”  
OMG OMg Omg omg  
omg  
...  
It’s a guy.  
That is a guy.  
And he’s ice cold. Yeesh!  
Oh wait, I’ve heard of this one. He plays some kind of fancy counter-tennis. Actually, this might even be a pretty good match! I guess, if I’m basically reduced to the status of a spectator, there is something to be said for having the best seat in the house for seeing a real live genius in action.  
Oh dear god,please tell me he’s not going to drink whatever that trainer just handed him!? It’s bubbling, and there’s vapor coming off it! That can’t be legal!!!  
…So much for that match.  
“Forfeit? He can’t forfeit! He has yet to be crushed by the sheer aura of my magnificence! You. What’s your name? Get down here and make this worth my while.”  
…  
Fuck this shit.


	2. Bash My Bible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternate perspective on Fuji vs. Shiraishi at the nationals. (Bubble-butt may be a somewhat AU references to the musicals... >>)

Oh my. This is one hell of a match.  
Did you see that? The ball actually flew straight up in the air, hit the court, and then rebounded back across the net! Tell me you saw that!  
Actually, I've been doubting my eyesight for a while now. Balls that just chug along the ground instead of lifting, smashes averted like so much air, and now this impossible returning ball.  
I flunked physics, so maybe it's just a flaw in my understanding, but if it is actually possible, that had to be one hell of a fluke.  
Now, this other guy—the one with the fluid hips and perfect bubble-butt…yeup—now his tennis I understand. His plays are flawless and there's no wasted motion in him whatsoever. Especially those hip rolls. Nothing wasted about those.  
He even returned all those weird, flukey shots I'm not sure actually happened.  
Looks like this contest is over. Match-point, already. That guy they keep calling a genius looks mighty comfy on the ground—not a bad backside on that one either, but a bit flat if you ask me. No, the bible dude wins that contest, too.  
Here we go. The en-oh wow. He just said out loud exactly what I was thinking! It's like destiny! We’re meant to be!  
Oh, come on already. What's done is done! He said, “The e-“Gosh, there we go again, synching up like some kind of legendary doubles team. You can bash my bible any time, honey...  
Awww man, now what the fuck is that? Am I high? Did that suspicious guy with the ugly glasses and the weird juices slip something into my water? Oh, I get it. Drug the ref. Brilliant play. If I see phoenixes, unicorns, and dragons rampaging about I’ll just start calling all kinds of crazy shit. I guess they got me there. I wouldn’t mind it if the tall, strapping fella with the distinguished glasses and strong presence slipped me a rufy, though. Just wait till I have your game in my hands, sweetheart.  
Gatekeeper of what, now? Final Counter, eh? Don’t you think that’s a bit limiting?   
…Oh dear. Having a bit of trouble getting it up, there, bubble-butt?   
...I admit, I'm impressed. So this is a tensai. Didn't think he had the tenacity but he's fought back from 5-0 match point and now he's got my lovely little bubble-butt up against a wall.  
Hmph. That's my job… I wish. I can just see it now.   
“Hello, my love. I have descended from the heavens after watching over you all this time… What’s that? You never noticed? No, no. I was just sitting right up there. You know. In the ref’s chair? Yes, yes referees are real. No, we’re not just some myth… It was nice meeting you, too.”   
Over before it could ever begin. It’s always the way. Meanwhile…  
Seriously, this gatekeeper thing is marbles! Someone slip my guy some viagra! Not that I’m supposed to have a “my guy” but you can’t blame a guy for being a little biased… Oh, shut up. You’re just a figment of my drug-induced delusions, anyway.  
Oh, shit! There we go! Just a little further baby, come on! Get it up, now. That's how it's done!  
BOOYAH!  
Oh f-oh fuck! This is bonkers! Damn, that guy really is a genius, but… but! BUBBLE-BUTT! Thatta boy!   
… Out! Holy shit. I can’t believe that just happened.   
Somebody needs to call that shit.  
Oh.  
Right.  
Yeah.  
On it.  
“Out!”  
…Fuuuck, that was some good shit.

**Author's Note:**

> This is not even remotely reminiscent of my usual work but... I regret nothing.


End file.
